


Rescue Romance

by DesdemonaKaylose



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Rescue, yet another fic where jimmy meets johnny under more favorable circumstances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 08:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose
Summary: It's not a weird sex thing, actually. For once.





	Rescue Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyenafan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyenafan/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Hyenafan! It was suggested I use a prompt from the kink meme, so I used [this one](https://jthm-kinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/175685963466/jimmyjohnny-one-of-them-gets-kidnapped-and-the)

Johnny C. is extremely familiar with the art of restraining an unwilling guest, but this is his first time being on the receiving end of the knot configuration. Someone is toting him around as easy as a sleeping bag tucked under their big meaty arm, and occasionally banging bits of him against walls and doorframes in the process. He stopped kicking and wriggling about ten minutes ago, because he was starting to get winded. And bored.

In the middle of his normal Tuesday raid of the Piggly Wiggly (looking for those little crunchy chocolate candies, the ones with the gold wrapper) Nny had felt himself snatched up, bundled tight, and dragged off into some kind of car with what sounded like a faulty muffler. It’s been inconvenient. He still hasn’t gotten to eat a single chocolate, despite having shoved several into his pockets in a blind panic when he felt the cruel forces of fate attempting to separate him from his quarry.

Whoever has Nny under their arm bangs him against another door frame, and one of the stolen chocolates gives a sad little crunch in his pocket.

There’s a dizzy swing, a weightless second of lift, and then the bag finally comes off his head. Nny squints at the buzzing bare bulb, and then he squints at the trio of muscular goons securing the room around him. It looks a bit like an interrogation cell, although it doesn’t have the two way mirror that makes up 90% of the drama in a cop show.

“Alright Mack,” says the one with the sunglasses (which are nature’s way of marking him out to predators as an insufferable douche), “tie him to the chair.”

Nny is already tied, although admittedly what he’s tied to is mostly just himself. Mack pulls a loop of rope off his shoulder and cinches Nny to the back of a cheap metal chair.

“This better not be a weird sex thing,” Nny says, glaring at the whole crew through slitted eyes.

Mack screws up his piggy face. “It’s not a weird sex thing,” he says. “It’s a—”

“Because I _will_ chew off the first dick I am forced to lay eyes on, and, for the sake of fairness, that includes my own. Then I will chew through my wrists, climb across this table, and shove my entire forearm down your throat, and choke you with my arterial spray.”

“Jesus,” says Mack’s now-distinctly-pale friend. “Can you put the bag back on him?”

“It’s _not_ a weird sex thing,” Mack insists, “it’s a—”

“Why would a bunch of thugs kidnap a random skinny no -one off the streets if it _wasn’t_ for a weird sex thing?” Nny says. “Not to sound like I’m _disappointed_ or anything, but I just don’t see what else I bring to the table in a potential abduction scenario.”

“Shut _up!_ Literally, shut up!”

Nny sits back in his chair. “Rude,” he says.

Mack pinches his broad, square forehead between two enormous fingers. “Joe, can you hurry up and get the boss?”

“Sure thing,” the third goon (Joe) says, already as far away from Nny as he can physically get in this little cement block of a room. He’s out the door before you can say _Amateur_ _tracheotomy_. The other two stand there, with their arms crossed, looking anywhere but at Nny, while his footsteps disappear.

“Okay well this is awkward,” Nny observes. He wiggles a little, trying to get one of his hands into his pocket. “I really wanted a ferrero rocher…”

The sound of footsteps abruptly picks back up again. The two remaining goons glance at each other, nonplussed, and then turn back towards the hall.

_Thump. Thump. T H W U M P._

The door crashes into the wall, spraying plaster dust. A boy comes staggering through in a rag-tag mish-mash of chains and piercings, clutching his booted foot and whining.

“It looks so much _easier_ in movies,” he says, and reaches out blindly for something to lean his weight against. Apparently the shoulder of Mack is just the right distance away. Mack gapes at the boy. His own absurd truck-sized bulk is barely contained by the squeeze of his mustard-stained t-shirt, while this boy despite his considerable height seems to have been constructed from twizzlers and hair-spray.

The boy just props himself up against Mack’s bicep like it’s part of the architecture.

Nny starts laughing. All the goons flinch and bristle just like cats, with their piggy eyes squinting up all offended, but Nny doesn’t give a damn about _that_. He topples onto his side, chair and all, and starts wheezing, kicking his bound legs like a jackrabbit on ecstasy, absolutely _losing_ it.

The boy looks up, as if he forgot where he was for a second there.

“Nny!” he says, with the exact delight of a six-year-old saying _Santa!_

Nny sniggers into the linoleum, eyes watering. “Do I know you?” he says, between gasps.

“I’m Jimmy!” says, apparently, Jimmy. He sets his boot back down on the floor and pats Mack absently on the arm as he pushes off again. “I’m your number one fan and I’m here to rescue you from—from—”

He pauses and puffs out his sallow cheeks as he takes in the holding cell.

“—whatever this is,” he concludes. He casts Mack an unimpressed look, tapping a black nail against his cheek. “It’s not very sexy, whatever it is. I think you could do better. This is kind of how, like, orgy clubs just meet in some old, balding real estate salesman’s living room and they all drink juice and then they rip off their addidas sweat suits and start grinding on each other? It’s just sad? You could at _least_ have some manacles and velvet.”

“This isn’t a sex thing!” Mack shouts, slamming his fist into the wall with another, smaller, shower of plaster dust.

“Really?” Jimmy says. “What else would a bunch of thugs kidnap a random goth twink off the streets for if it _wasn’t_ a weird sex thing?”

Nny brightens. “That’s what I said!” he hollers. And then he frowns sharply. “… _Twink?”_

“It’s for voter fraud!” Mack says, throwing his huge arms up in the air. “Jesus Christ! We take a random patsy to a bunch of different precincts and have him do voter fraud! Why are you making this weird!”

“Huh,” Jimmy says. He smiles, flips open a butterfly knife, and buries it in the considerable heft of Mack’s abdomen. “Well I still think this was a pretty good rescue, even if it wasn’t from some kind of hardcore sex cult. Did you see me kick the door in? Pretty bad ass.”

He wrenches the knife out of Mack’s stomach with a _splurch_ of blood. As Mack staggers back into the wall, Jimmy skips across the floor and comes right up to the sprawl of Nny and his chair on the ground. He starts to make for the bindings, and then a new thought seems to occur to him.

“Oh, okay, hold on,” he says, and spins on his heel. “This is my chance to make a strong first impression! I should make the most of it!”

He interlocks his knuckles and cracks them in front of himself with an eager little stretch. Then he flips the butterfly knife in his grip, bends his knee, and _launches_ himself at Sunglasses.

You know, Johnny sees his fair share of carnage, but this might be the first time he’s seen anyone _climb_ a guy while also carving chunks off them. It’s like rock climbing, if the mountain was also screaming and trying to smash its fist into your head.

Johnny manages to get a hand in his pocket and, while he watches the scene with interest, he rolls a chocolate up to his face. It takes a bit of tongue work, but he manages to maneuver it into his mouth.

Mmm, crunchy. That’s the stuff.

When Sunglasses hits the ground with a titanic _whump_ , Jimmy whirls. He’s panting, splattered head to toe in blood, and still holding the knife. He throws his hands up in a V for victory.

Nny politely claps his hands together as well as he can under the ropework.

Jimmy skitters back over and cuts him loose, after all, while the goons moan in anguish and disbelief somewhere on the other side of the room. Once everything’s been sliced free, Jimmy hastily tucks away his knife and steps back to offer Nny a hand up.

“How gentlemanly,” Nny says, and takes the hand even though it’s covered in sticky gore. He’s not going to be _impolite_ about it.

Jimmy absolutely preens.

“You’re lucky I was here!” he says. “I saw them pulling you into that car of theirs and I was like _hey don’t I know those boots_ , which I should, because I’ve been following you for weeks and you only ever wear the one pair, I really like them by the way do you know if I could get a pair too ‘cause I’ve just been wearing these old things but they’re not really _crowd_ pleasers like yours are—”

Nny tunes him out and works the kinks out of his shoulder, rotating the joint carefully. He hit the ground pretty hard, huh? He hopes the chocolates on that side were okay.

“-so um,” Jimmy finishes, dragging to an uncertain stall. When Nny looks up, he has his hands clasped behind his back. His toe is pushing at a bloody chunk of earlobe on the floor.

“Yes?” Johnny says.

“Are you impressed?” Jimmy asks.

Impressed? Nny considers Jimmy and the room in general with vague uncertainty. Which thing was he supposed to be impressed by?

“…It was very nice of you to come and let me out,” he says. “Although I think you missed the opportunity to do something cruelly ironic with that one guy’s sunglasses. Maybe used them to gouge out his eyes…?”

“Oh,” Jimmy says, looking abashed. And then he brightens, patting at his pockets for something. “Maybe if I broke the glass first?” he digs out a warped notepad and a pen. “Or used the leggy bits? Get a kind of Oedipus thing going?”

“I’d go with the legs,” Nny says. “Then you can punch them right through the sockets like a dual lobotomy and it’ll look like he’s still wearing them.”

Jimmy is scribbling furiously. Nny is more than a little pleased to have someone asking him his opinion again. That hasn’t happened since—oh, hm. A _while_.

The pen pauses against the pad. Jimmy looks up. He bites his lip.

“But the, uh, the rescue,” he says. “That was good? You liked it?”

Riding the high of his sudden good mood, Nny says, “Oh, certainly. Very gallant.”

“Then—” Jimmy pulls the pad against his chest. “Maybe, you should give me a kiss.”

Nny wrinkles his nose. “Why?”

Jimmy turns red enough that it becomes difficult to tell which parts of his face are covered in blood and which parts are still dry. “When someone gets rescued in movies they usually kiss the guy who rescued them,” he says. “So if I did good, maybe you could kiss me?”

Nny considers this. He’s not really the type to go around kissing strangers, to put it mildly. Also, Jimmy is covered in blood, and the last thing he wants to do is risk getting that in his mouth.

“What if I gave you some chocolate,” Nny says. He feels like maybe he remembers a grade school teacher who used to do that when kids did well on tests. Or maybe he’s remembering one of those times he followed Squee to school and watched the classroom through the bushes to make sure there were no aliens hanging around again. He digs into his pocket and comes up with something mostly uncrushed, which he presents proudly to Jimmy.

Jimmy looks from Nny to the chocolate. After a moment of hesitation, he unpeels it and pops it into his mouth. His eyes go wide.

“Oh, fuck,” he says. “These things are really good.”

“Correct,” Nny says. “You’re welcome.”

Jimmy licks chocolate off his teeth, with an air of intense thoughtfulness. “…Can I at least walk you home?”

Nny taps his mouth. He’s feeling social, at least for now. Might as well make hay while the sun is shining.

“Very well,” he says. “But don’t ask for any more chocolate. The rest is mine.”


End file.
